Page 35 of Waters that Drown Us

Except not in English. In Russian.

The words are similar in Russian and Estonian. ?????? versus meduus. Emily doesn’t know either language. It shouldn’t matter. She shouldn’t notice. She shouldn’t even know I’ve said our safe word.

But I see it in her eyes. The recognition of my mistake.

All this time, I was consumed by the lies I told Emily, all the ways I manipulated her. I never once stopped to think that she could be doing the same to me.

There’s a lot I haven’t told you.

I take a single step back, and Emily stands perfectly still. She doesn’t reach out, doesn’t try to grab me again.

She wants to. I can see that in her eyes too. But she doesn’t.

“Okay, I’m stopping,” she says softly, her hands hovering in the air in front of her, frozen in their reach for me.

I should run. She could be anyone. She could be working for my father or Ilya.

The adrenaline rushing through my veins clears the immediate impacts of the alcohol, though I know that won’t last long. I have to find a way out of this. I never expected my father to send anyone but Ilya. They’re both too prideful to pass this on to a random gun for hire. I’ve watched both of them kill dozens of traitors and spies with their own hands. Ilya would want to be the exactor of his own revenge.

And he certainly wouldn’t have a hired hand spend weeks with me in some elaborate ruse. I’m not that human to him. I’m a cracked gem, a faulty toy, a damaged piece of art. All meant to be thrown away and replaced with something new.

“Do I need protection from you?” I ask. She could lie. Shehasbeen lying for weeks, and I haven’t noticed. There’s no way I could know the truth.

“No.” She says it like a promise.

I can feel the bourbon swimming to the surface of my mind again, and I try to fight the impact as I take another step backwards. Emily doesn’t flinch, doesn't move a centimeter.

Perhaps I’m suicidal. Or the knowledge that I’ve been living on borrowed time for years has made me value my life less and less every day. But even though I know she’s lying to me, somewhere deep within whatever is left of my soul, I’m desperate to believe she won’t hurt me.

“I am not fragile,” I say, taking two more steps toward my apartment. Not that the locks I’ve installed could keep her out, if she really was a part of my father’s empire.

“I know,” she agrees, and she’s either being truthful, or this is the most earnest lie she’s told.

“I can’t trust you.”I want to, is what I don’t say, even though it’s true.

“I know,” she repeats, this time her expression consumed by regret.

I formulate a drunken plan in my mind, something equally fueled by fear and desire, betrayal and guilt.

“I’m going home, and you are not going to follow me,” I direct, and Emily nods her head ever so slightly. “If you want to explain, and you want me to trust whatever you tell me, you’ll meet me at the docks tomorrow night at ten. And you will prove to me that you know I am not fragile.”

I walk backwards for a few more steps, ensuring Emily stays still before turning and rushing back to my apartment. I don’t hear her steps behind me, don’t feel her eyes on my skin after I turn up the rough-paved road toward my tiny apartment complex. I secure every lock the moment I get inside, and try to quiet the small voice inside me that reads her compliance as trustworthiness.

Tomorrow morning I might regret this plan. But I can run, if I need to. Hitchhike to northern California, or east into the fields and plains of Idaho. I’ll miss the ocean, but now it won’t only remind me of my mother. It’ll remind me of the woman who taught me to be vulnerable while I taught her to be brave.

And the lies we told along the way.

Chapter 16

Emily

Ihave less than twenty-four hours until Bea arrives, and absolutely everything has gone to hell.

The sun is setting, the warmth of the day seeping out of my skin as I watch the last rays reflect off the water, spilling like paint. Like colorful ink. Like blood.

Exactly as she requested, I did not follow Alice home last night. I did however spend the entire evening monitoring every camera I’ve installed across this town to ensure she didn’t run.

I don't know what I would have done if she had tried to escape. I wouldn’t have had a choice but to go after her. Ironically, it likely would have made my life easier. Clara would get what she wants—a captured enemy and informant—and I wouldn’t have to decide if I’m more likely to survive convincing my family to protect Alice, or running from them with her.